


How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Love the Sparklepire

by Anzila



Category: The Dresden Files - Jim Butcher, Twilight Series - Stephenie Meyer
Genre: Family drama as only the White Court can bring, Gen, Harry needs a nap, Reckless use of a dangerous wizard
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-25
Updated: 2019-08-11
Packaged: 2020-07-19 16:20:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 7,414
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19976971
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Anzila/pseuds/Anzila
Summary: When Harry Dresden agreed to go on a road trip with his favorite White Court vampire Thomas he had few illusions that this was going to be a relaxing vacation, but even Chicago's only listed wizard never could have guessed the sort of headaches he was going to have to endure upon finding himself embroiled in a secret war raging in the Pacific Northwest. A war involving both a very different kind of vampire than the ones he is used to, and perhaps the single greatest danger a wizard will ever face: Teen Drama.Set vaguely between Small Favor and Turn Coat, and during the events of Eclipse.





	1. Auto Mire

'Life is unfair,' probably the single most imparted lesson in human history after 'don't touch that,' and 'your face will stick that way.' It's meant to explain to a five-year-old a mystery that has stumped theologians and philosophers for generations; the problem of why bad things happen to good people. Alternatively, I suppose it could also be a way to shut kids up when they started trying to use logic to their advantage, not that I really have what one would call extensive experience with children. My dubious parenting skills aside, though, the message itself is a pretty accurate one. Life, in my experience, isn't fair. It doesn't care about good or evil, right or wrong, justice or corruption; in the end we're all just playthings in its sick twisted game.

Of course, that's not to imply life is equally unfair to everyone, after all that would defeat the point. No, when it comes to Life's cruel fun some playthings are more favored than others. Me?

"So, Harry, when you insisted on driving because, and I quote, 'no one knows how to make the Beetle run like me. There's a special bond here that nothing could break,' were you trying to be ironic for humor's sake, or have you finally taken too many blows to the head?"

I'm like a treasured childhood teddy bear. You know, the kind that’s missing an eye and half its stuffing.

The obnoxious pain in the ass currently giving a detailed history of my past automotive indiscretions was Thomas, my older brother. He was also one of the White Court of Vampires, which meant he had the body of a Greek god and the sexual restraint to match. Well, okay, he'd never turned into a bull to get with a girl, but probably only because he didn't need to.

As for myself, my name is Harry Blackstone Copperfield Dresden, Warden of the White Council, slayer of evil, and the only wizard in the Chicago City Phone Book (previously any phone book, before my ex decided to steal my gimmick). None of this happened to explain why I was standing in the middle of a rainstorm in the middle of Washington State being chewed out by my brother just because I happened to have some bad luck with cars. Bad luck that he was totally exaggerating, might I add. I only jumped out of a moving car once.

I think.

Looking around, and tuning Thomas out, I stared out at the lush foliage all around us. Having pretty much stuck to Chicago for most of my adult life, I hadn't had the chance to spend much time in forests, and while these particular woods might have been beautiful on a sunny day the fact that the weather right now could be generously described as disgusting was not doing much to convince me I was missing out. Sure, the sound of water pattering against bright green leaves and the distant rumble of thunder might have been soothing to some, but I'm willing to bet my substandard paycheck those people had never been almost eaten by lions. And tigers. And demonic bears. Oh my.

Turning away from thoughts of whatever might be lurking in the woods, waiting for a nice wizardly snack, I returned my attention to Thomas, who was still going on about my luck with moving vehicles. Honestly, I should have known counting on him to get bored was a lost cause. Thomas never got bored of the sound of his own voice.

"Look," I started, forestalling another retelling of that time with the fungus demon, "Which of us was the one who wanted to carpool because he didn't want to pay for gas himself? Which of us said it would be good for us to have some family bonding time? Which of us insisted on taking my car to avoid getting his wrecked?"

Thomas paused and glared, apparently irritated by logic.

"Harry, you seem to be implying this is somehow all my fault, when we both know I'm far too handsome for anything to be my fault. You really need to stop saying such crazy things."

Entertaining the thought of what my brother would look like as a toad, I decided to forgo any violations of the Laws of Magic today, and instead turned to contemplate the third member of our little journey. "Hey Mouse, whose fault do you think this is?"

Staring back at me, my Doggysarus Rex straightened from where he was laying across the back of the car, (not the back seat mind you, the entire back half of the car), and gave me a doggy grin. His opinion on which of us was to blame, if indeed he had one, remained unvoiced. A master of diplomacy, that was my Mouse.

"Well, either way," I continued, running a hand through my hair and staring at my poor much abused car, its noble name 'the Blue Beetle' ever increasingly a misnomer as more of its body was replaced with different colored parts from other Volkswagens, "I think we're walking from here. The last sign said the next town is only a few miles away. We should be able to get someone to tow the Beetle there." I didn't want to leave my noble car behind, but it was getting dark and I was beginning to suspect that it never stopped raining in this state, so my options were limited.

Thomas arched one perfectly plucked eyebrow and rolled his eyes. "Fine, but I reserve the right to complain the whole way."

"Do you really need to make this experience more miserable?" My brother's vigorous nods confirmed that yes, he did, which was about as surprising as my car breaking down. And Murphy thought I took comfort from routine.

"Alright," I said with another sigh, opening the back door to let Mouse slip out with far too much grace for a dog his size. "Let’s get going then." Retrieving the massive rolling suitcase that held all our stuff from the back of the trunk one handed, Thomas nodded and fell into step with me.

Setting off at something less than a trot but more than a mosey, and rather far from a skip, our unusual trio set out along the highway, the dark and mysterious woods our only company. Looking around, I half expected to see the bright yellow eyes of an old Hanna Barbera cartoon looming out of the shadows at me. Reaching into my leather duster's pocket I gripped the familiar weight of my blasting rod.

Hey, some people had security blankets; I had phenomenal cosmic powers. Linus, eat your heart out.

"So, what exactly is the name of this place we're going to again?"

"Forks. Forks, Washington."

"Huh, sounds nice."

**Author's Note**

So here it is, one of my first attempts at actually posting fanfiction. This was started a very long time ago, and the original version is on FanFiction.net, but I want to try and start it up again, and maybe reconnect with a fandom I dearly love.

Just as a heads up, if you are here for wall to wall Twilight bashing best to look elsewhere. While I am in no way a fan of that particular property, I believe for a crossover to be good it has to do justice to both properties, so my goal here is to take the often interesting background ideas and elements of these series, sand off or acknowledge in universe all the creepy relationship dynamics and racist parts, and keep the characters accurate to the way they are presented in the book. I plan to acknowledge that Twilight's creatures are very powerful and dangerous, and no character is going to be my personal whipping post. That's my promise. Okay, enough of this, back to the show.


	2. Police Action

The walk into town was about as pleasant as could be expected from a grueling several mile hike through the drizzling woods accompanied by a man who had turned being obnoxious into an art form.

No, not me, Thomas.

Once we got into Forks, a sleepy little town of 3,113 people according to the very informative sign we passed on the way in, we set about finding a place to stay. Apparently, they didn't get visitors much judging by the stares that were fixed on us the instant we stepped over the town lines, or maybe they just didn't get a lot of giants in black leather coats, personified cologne ads, or dogs who looked like they included Woolly Mammoths as part of a balanced breakfast. Oh well, their loss.

We managed to make it about halfway to the center of town before the local authorities decided to pay us a little welcome visit, which in the circumstances probably said more about the discretion of Fork's police force than it did about our ability to look inconspicuous. The police cruiser was one of those four-wheel drive affairs, big enough to actually go off road while small enough to forestall accusations of compensation. It approached us slowly enough that we had plenty of time to see it coming even if we weren't paying attention, before gently coming to a stop next to the sidewalk. The officer inside, a rough solemn looking man with messy black hair and a bristly mustache, rolled down the window and leaned out to address Thomas and me.

"You folks alright?"

Thomas immediately took the lead in the talking, which was probably for the best. Authority figures and I didn't really get along for the most part, even when we liked each other. "Aside from being a little damp we couldn't be better officer," he assured the lawman, who only raised an eyebrow in an expression of obvious doubt. Clearly this was a man who was used to letting his eyebrows do the talking.

If my brother was fazed by the officer calling his bluff, he gave no sign as he continued. "My friend's car, on the other hand, is a very different story. I keep telling him that the 1950's are over and he just needs to learn to let go, but he's the sentimental sort. I mean," and here Thomas leaned in as if the next words were to be a private exchange between the two of them, which would have worked better had he lowered his voice even slightly, "just look at him. That coat belongs on the set of El Dorado." Pulling back, and ignoring the death glare I was shooting him for insulting my car and my coat in the same conversation with practiced ease, Thomas shrugged in helplessness. "We broke down several miles back, and had the walk the rest of the way. Is there someone we could possibly call to go collect it before it completely decays? Either a tow truck or a dump truck, it doesn't matter-OW!"

That last ow was probably my fault, seeing as I was the one who smacked him upside the head, but hey, he was talking about junking the Blue Beetle! When a man's car is threatened, he has to take a stand.

For his part, the officer let his eyes wander from Thomas to me, then back to Thomas, then down to Mouse, and then over to the gigantic bag Thomas had remembered to start dragging behind him before we'd entered town.

"Right."

Silence stretched on for another minute as he seemed to mull something over, then finally he continued, "I'll call Fred Wilks to get his truck out there and give you a tow. He'll bring it to the Timberly's Bread and Breakfast right down that way. That's the only real place to stay in town." Done speaking, he leaned back into the cruiser, as if using so many words at once had worn him out, and he turned to the radio, likely to start the process of saving my car from its dreadful fate.

Bouncing back from the grievous wound I had dealt him, Thomas smiled in a way that made his teeth gleam in complete defiance of the overcast weather and said, "Ah, well thank you for everything Officer…?"

"Sheriff Swan." He didn't even look up, and I suddenly got the impression that we were not the strangest people he’d seen in this town by a long shot. Which, given it wasn’t that big a town, and all three of us looked weird as hell, didn’t have the most pleasant implications for how smoothly this vacation was about to go.

"Well, thank you Sheriff, we'll just be on our way." Getting only a parting nod from Swan, the three of us turned in the direction he had indicated, and once again set off down the main street.

So far, we'd been in town about a half an hour, and managed to avoid any major disasters. This trip was already turning out a lot better than I thought it would have.

And really, that should have been my first clue of how bad things were going to get. Personally, I blame Thomas.


	3. Feng Shui

After our run in with Sheriff Swan, we managed to get to the Planter Bush Bed and Breakfast, where Thomas assured me he had a reservation, without incident. The more we walked around, though, the more I noticed serious oddities about this community. For starters, Forks had an absurdly large school for a town of probably around 3,000 people. This thing had multiple buildings, and looked more like a college campus than a small-town high school, and was big enough that they could probably fit the entire town inside it with room to spare. Not to mention the hospital was almost as big as the high school, which made even less sense. There was no way a town this small had enough health issues to allow a practice of that size to turn a profit, and they were far enough off the beaten path the odds of people coming from other towns was unlikely too.

Weirdly large public buildings aside, we didn’t encounter any further trouble until we were actually arrived at our destination, a three-story converted farm house with big green windows and a wide front porch right on the edge of town. While the kindly middle-aged owners of the Bed and Breakfast, who introduced themselves as Mr. and Mrs. Timberly, were understanding about us dripping on their nice carpet, both expressed discomfort at the idea of my dog sharing a room with Thomas and I, communicating their opinion on that idea through that good old small town tradition of constantly glancing at Mouse while asking the same question several different ways. Given I was wet, tired, aching, and irritable for any number of reasons, most of which were related to Thomas, I think I can be forgiven for not quite picking up on this folksy homespun bit of passive aggressiveness and merely thinking both Mr. and Mrs. Timberly had some sort of early onset senility, but apparently my brother is more in tune with people. I suppose growing up in a household that made the Medici look like gossiping high school girls has some benefits.

Of course, whatever points he'd won back he instantly squandered by making his cover story that Mouse was my helper dog, as I had, he whispered in just the right way to be sure I heard, was prone to certain fits, and needed to be carefully monitored. Both owners promptly bought the story, nodding solemnly and flashing me pitying looks, despite the absence of any sort of actual evidence that Mouse had anything resembling a service license. Not that said pooch helped much, as he quickly moved to my side and pressed himself against me, making a show of glancing up every so often as if to make sure I was alright. Closing my eyes, I counted to ten in a strategy I’d learned over the years to suppress kin-slaying urges. By the time they opened, Thomas had managed to exchange cash for keys, and was giving a non-committal answer to Mr. Timberly’s request that he join him and his wife for dinner.

Finally, after several attempts, we managed to excuse ourselves and escape upstairs to our room. It was a homey little set up full of knickknacks and paintings of birds and embroidered bed covers, the sort of place couples trying to bring the spark back into their relationship came to spend their time trying not to be overheard by the other five couples attempting to do the exact same thing. To the place's credit, though, most of the furniture and the bed really did show the wear of a place that had been well lived in, with a faint smell of baked goods that had likely sunk into the creaky floorboards underlying everything. The place might have been a little old, but it had aged gracefully and was proud of its wrinkles. That we could all be so graceful in our twilight years.

Once we'd arrived and Thomas had chucked the suitcase on the bed, I immediately began trying to pry information out of my brother about why we were here.

"Fresh northern air does a body good you know. Seriously Harry, when was the last time you got out of that personal dungeon of yours?"

It was going about as well as it usually did.

Rubbing my temples in a fashion that was disturbingly similar to one my mentor Ebenerzer McCoy had done whenever I had managed a stupider stunt than usual, I tried to remind myself for the fourth time that day that fratricide was in no way a valid option.

"Thomas, if you are seriously telling me we walked through miles of mud-soaked forest just to get some fresh air I am going to turn you into something small and unpleasant."

That was a bluff of course, and he knew it. Turning people into frogs was a major violation of the Second Law of magic, and prime head chopping justification. Not that it wasn't looking more and more worth it by the second. "Now, you got me out here by saying you needed my help cleaning up vampire business, which I hate, to help your sister, who I hate, maintain stability, which I like enough to balance out the two prior hates. That's gotten me this far, but if I'm going to get myself beaten half to death, I want more details."

Of course, there was another reason I had come, one far more important than keeping Lara Raith on her hidden throne. Thomas was family. For someone like me, who had spent most of his life without a family, that reason alone was enough to get me to go across the country. Letting some of the sarcasm out of my tone, I lowered my voice a little and added, "Thomas, we're family. I'm not going to leave you high and dry. You can trust me."

It was rare that my brother let anyone see through the mask of easy-going obnoxious playboy that he broadcast for all the world, both mortal and otherwise. I didn't know much about Thomas's early years, but growing up as the only surviving son of the king of the White Court couldn't have been easy, and I knew the only reason Thomas made it out alive was because he had convinced everyone around him he wasn't a threat. Growing up in an abusive household leaves scars on anyone, regardless of what form that abuse takes, and Lord Raith had inflicted every kind imaginable on his own children. Thomas had had to learn from the moment he could walk and talk how to survive in a household utterly devoid of even the most basic familial love, utterly alone and knowing that just a second’s misstep could bring death, or worse. The mask he wore had become a survival instinct, something he pulled on so easily that he didn't even have to think about it, and just because I was his brother and he loved me didn’t mean he could just change who he was. Much as that persona might get under my skin, deep down I could never really resent him for it, just loath the monsters that had forced him to adopt it. Still, there were depths underneath his carefully constructed armor that ran deeper than even I really understood, and in moments like this, when the amusement in his eyes softened and the sharpness of his smirk faded, that I got a glimpse of who my brother really was.

He was silent for a moment, his chiseled marble features showing a very human uncertainty, before he seemed to reach a decision. Looking me in the eye he nodded to himself and opened his mouth to speak.

Which was the exact moment when one of the walls exploded inward in a frenzy of violence, shards of wood flying through the air as the whole building shook with crashing glassware and horrified screams.

Typical.


	4. Sucky Alibi

Here's the thing about explosions. You know how in action movies there's always this one scene where the hero walks towards the camera while behind him something blows up dramatically without our hero even flinching?

Well, having been in more than my fair share of explosions over the years, I can safely say that Hollywood handles explosions with about as much realism as they do CPR, computers, and non-western cultures.

Which is to say, not very much.

Not only do most real explosions not have the jaw-dropping fireball of their cinematic counterparts, but the concussive force from them would instantly flatten anyone trying to make a dramatic exit.

I'd know, I've tried.

Of course, the other major problem with explosions is that they tend to throw up a lot of shrapnel at high velocities that are rather unhealthy for squishy humans. I had about a heartbeat’s worth of time between the sound of cracking wood as our room’s wall shattered inwards, and the arrival of a wave of plaster, broken glass, and assorted crumpled knickknacks hitting me at a hundred miles an hour. That was just enough time for my highly tuned wizard mind go, ' _wha_ -' as six inches of broken wood came at my head.

Fortunately, Thomas's reflexes are significantly more fine-tuned than mine, and in that same blink of an eye he'd crossed the space between us to the bed, grabbing the thick headboard with glowing hands. Letting out an inhuman roar, he ripped the king-sized antique oak bed off the floor and threw it between us and the little bits of death slicing through the air with about as much effort as I take to heft a grocery bag. There was a sound of tearing fabric and cracking wood as Thomas spun toward me, eyes glowing bright silver as he pulled me to the floor with one hand. He did this all in the time it took my brain to formulate three letters.

Sometimes, my brother can be really scary.

The blast wave shredded the bed's mattress to ribbons, but it wasn't moving with enough force to punch through solid oak of the frame. Everything not behind the bed was shattered or cracked, and it was hard to tell where the noise ended and the ringing in my head from hitting the floor began. Then, just as violently as it started, the cacophony was over, any my brain could process something other than overwhelming noise. Over the coffee table collapsing and door to the room flapping on its remaining hinge, I was just able to make out the sound of boots crunching on broken glass.

Mouse, who in midst of everything that had happened had thrown his own considerable bulk into bracing the bed alongside Thomas, suddenly let out a low rumble from deep in his chest that had the hairs on the back of my neck stand up. My dog might have been a canine of few words, but when he started making sounds like that it meant serious trouble.

"Foolish cousin, did you really think we could not foresee your arrival?"

The words echoed through the trashed room, spoken by whoever or whatever had just reduced the wall of the second story of a building to kindling. Yet, despite the terrifying power it possessed, and the intended threatening nature of its words, whole menace of the situation was rather undercut by the voice itself. When he (at least, it sounded like a he), spoke, it was with a stuttering quality to it, the way a new actor tried to remember lines he’d only just committed to memory. Poor acting aside, though, Understudy here seemed the sort who could compensate for bad delivery with raw physical presence.

"Foreseeing I expected," Thomas sighed, managing to sound almost bored, like this whole situation was as bothersome as a waiter bringing him the wrong order. "I just didn't think even you hicks were dumb enough to want to start a war."

Diplomacy must run in the family.

I noted that Thomas apparently knew the guy trying to kill us, but right now that was a problem for future Harry. Present Harry needed to focus, because battles, especially battles with Things That Go Bump in the Night, were decided in seconds. Worrying about the big picture would leave you just another smear on the sidewalk.

Thomas's barbs had apparently found their mark, because about a second later a hand burst through the bottom of the bed he was still holding up, the fingers attached to it curled like claws as they slashed towards my brother's face. It was a good five or so steps from the outer wall of the building to where Thomas and I were, and the floor between had to have been covered in rubble, yet this thing had closed that distance without making a sound and punched through a half a foot of solid oak in the time it would take me to stand up.

Thomas and Mouse both let out grunts of effort as the force of the blow shoved them back hard enough that I could hear Mouse's nails tear rivets in the wood floor. This time, though, I was prepared for our enemy's speed, and as dramatic as Understudy’s opening attack had been, it also left it stuck in place, while also helpfully telling me exactly where it was standing.

The Thomas had spoken I’d started gathering magic into myself, channeling power from the air around us and shaping it within myself, relying on the runes lining my staff to help me quickly shape the chaotic energy into something a little more directed. Bracing my boots to the bottom of the bed and my back to the wall, I wedged the length of carved wood just beneath where that arm was still grasping for Thomas.

'The sign said Do Not Disturb,” I growled out, before releasing the power I’d just built up through my staff with a hard, “ _Forzare_!'

There might be a lot of heavy hitters in the supernatural world, creatures with super human strength and speed, luckily for us, 99.9% of them still have to obey the good old laws of physics. Understudy, as it turned out, was one of the 99%, which meant that when I released the pulse of magical force down my staff, through the bed, and into his chest, it didn't matter if he bench-pressed cars every day. Once that amount of force hits a human level of mass, said mass will find itself on a one-way trip away from me. The entire bed snapped in half as raw force slammed through it and picked up whatever creature was on the other side, hurling it right back where it had come from. Through the cloud of splinters, snapped springs, and torn sheets, I was just able to catch a glimpse of a men's dress shoe passing beyond the jagged edge of the hole in the wall before vanishing into distance, trailing a screech of rage in its wake. About two seconds later that dwindling scream was suddenly cut off by a profoundly satisfying, if rather muted, thud. Likely whatever I blasted had just met the roof of the building across the road.

Without even looking at each other, Thomas and I pushed through the remains of the bed and rushed as quickly as we could to our room's new emergency exit, boots crunching on wood and plaster, as we looked for where I'd blasted Understudy. It took me a moment to track down where he’d landed, and that was when I got my first real look at our attacker.

Now, I have seen a lot of weird things in my life. In the course of one particularly eventful week I watched a half-genie get eaten by a literal movie monster, was almost sold in e-bay, and crashed the party of the Fairy Queen Mab herself. That was also not the strangest week I've ever had.

What I’m getting at is that when I say something is weird, I know what I'm talking about.

Now, on the surface, watching a pale man in fashionable, if now damaged, clothing leap from treetop to treetop as if he was hooked up to an invisible harness was not all that odd by my standards. Even his ability to do so after being hit with a mystical wrecking ball off the second story of a building and into a second building wasn't totally surprising.

The fact that he was honest to god sparkling, as if someone had taken millions of tiny diamonds and embedded them in his skin in a way that would make the world’s most dedicated raver tell him to turn it down? Now that was definitely weird.

"Thomas," I asked my brother in my best 'I'm trying to be patient' tone.

"Yes Harry?"

"Did we almost just get murdered by an extra from Labyrinth?"

"It would seem so."

"Are you going to tell me _why_ we almost got killed by an extra from Labyrinth?"

"Sure. Right after we finish explaining this to the police."

Oh, right, that's what those sirens were.


	5. Inmate Spells

A/N: This chapter, and indeed the whole story, is dedicated to Prime, my brilliant spouse, who has edited the first four chapters for me over the weekend.

As far as police interrogations go, the three hours we spent down at the station with Sheriff Swan were actually comparatively pleasant, certainly compared to all the other times cops have found me standing in what looks like the aftermath of a terrorist attack. After making sure everyone was okay, he had brought us all down to the station to get our statements and ensure no one needed medical attention

Once they calmed down, the Timberly's seemed perfectly willing to buy that the explosion that had taken out the second floor of their business had been the result of a gas leak. That Thomas had quietly suggested as much to them was likely a contributing factor in that willingness, and the fact that the explosion had been directed inwards, and that there was no actual gas source to speak of, didn't really seem to occur to them at that time.

Sheriff Swan seemed far less inclined to ignore the actual evidence of what happened, but he was pulled from the interrogation room by a phone call from his daughter before he could ask too many questions. With our hosts unwilling to press charges, and no real reason to book us, Thomas and I were quickly released with a warning not to leave town before the police had a chance to finish their investigation.

The fact that the deputy that Swan had left us with was an attractive blonde had probably helped too, though to her credit she made us fill out every single sheet of paperwork before slipping Thomas her phone number. That process done, we were then reunited with Mouse, who had spent his own time at the station happily wolfing down the treats he had charmed out of everyone present.

Meanwhile I got a bill for the tow truck they'd called for my car. Life just isn't fair.

Leaving the station, we backtracked to the Planter Bush, where we recovered our luggage and got resettled in a smaller room on the first floor, a narrow affair with just enough room for the double bed, a cracked leather armchair, and a narrow dresser. For the moment, however, our sleeping arraignments were the furthest thing from my mind.

"Okay, the police have been dealt with. Now," I paused for a moment, looking to the wall just to make sure no one was planning on coming through it before continuing. "What the hell is really going on here?"

Thomas, who had also glanced at the wall suspiciously, turned back to me, sighing as he ran his fingers through hair that had managed to stay perfectly coiffed through our battle and interrogation.

"Harry, how much do you know about the history of the White Court?"

"Enough to advise against being related to one."

That earned me a dirty look.

"I know enough about the basics. That they're one of the major supernatural powers, and probably the most human passing of the four species of vampire. They feed on a range of different emotions to sate a demonic parasite that in return grants them access to tremendous power. Oh, and their entire culture is based around making sure everyone knows how clever they are."

Now, despite my somewhat flippant attitude, the White Court really were a seriously terrifying bunch. Not as physically powerful as the Red or Black Courts, at least not without expending a lot of energy, yet in many ways they were both more threatening, and more successful. While the Black Court had been nearly wiped out, and the Red Court preferred to control and dominate through raw power in a way that had made enemies of most of the rest of the supernatural community, the White Court was far subtler in their own infiltration of mortal society.

Want to get an idea of what I mean? The Red Court took over most of Latin America through a systematic encouragement of numerous brushfire wars and counterrevolutions, throwing the region into constant chaos while securing dominance over every power that really mattered. The White Court? They took over the porno industry. Not exactly impressive, until you realize that one of their biggest weaknesses is the inverse emotion of what they feed on. Wrath is burned by peace. Fear, by courage. Lust? Well, raw lust is hurt by real love. By flooding the market with pornographic movies specifically designed to cheapen the act of sex into a base carnal act that was no longer about mutual pleasure and connecting to one another, but rather self-gratification and objectification, they've managed to undermine and degrade their own major weakness, all the while staying under the rest of the supernatural community's radar. They might be the weakest in raw power and political might, but when it came to success they easily stood atop the competition.

Given my personal connection with several key members of the court, over the years I'd worked to amass as much knowledge about their operations as I could, but given that the White Court was built a tradition of deception that made the CIA and MI6 look like locker room gossip mongers, there was a good chance that most-to-all of what I knew was exactly what they wanted me to know.

For a minute Thomas got a look that told me he was having a rather serious conversation with himself, and I sat back to wait with my usual patience as I rubbed Mouse behind the ears, studying the paintings of forest landscapes that took up most of the walls of our room.

Okay, so maybe I started humming the Jeopardy theme 30 seconds in.

Okay, so it was 10 seconds.

An entirely undeserved pillow to the face later, and Thomas seemed to reach a decision.

"We're here to visit my cousins."

I stared at him for a good long minute.

"Your…cousins." I knew Thomas had cousins. I'd personally killed a few, and shed exactly zero tears over doing so. None of them had, to my knowledge, sparkled.

"You know, after all the long rambling explanations I've had to endure from you, I feel like I should draw this out more.” Harsh. Accurate, but harsh. “How surprised would you be if I said the White Court didn't always look the way we do now?"

Not very was the honest answer. While most of the various supernatural entities around today liked to make out as if they'd always been in the world, in truth they were just as prone to fluctuations and change as mortal civilizations. The White Council of wizards was formed in the aftermath of the Roman Empire, the Black Court of vampires had nearly been wiped out less than 200 years ago, and that wasn't even getting into the Spring and Autumn Fairy Courts. I’d seen for myself that ghouls used to look even meaner and uglier than they already did, which given your average ghoul had the appeal of a hyena with terminal rabies, was saying something. Heck, apparently wizards used to curdle milk just by getting near it. It figured that the White Court hadn’t always existed in their current form, and for a society where appearance was everything, this fact would be a big deal.

I indicated as much, and he nodded.

"I’ve never bothered to go too deep on the details, but apparently before our Hunger took its current form, we were a lot more like the other two courts. More bestial, savage, and inhuman. Something happened, a war with the Black Court I think, and most of us ended up ditching personal power for long term survivability by taking the deal that turned us into the charming bastards you know and rightfully despise today.”

I flinched a little at that, not because he was wrong, but because he’d so easily included himself in that category. The White Court were monsters, deadly dangerous predators that were all the more horrifying because of how easily they could make you love them. In his own mind, Thomas probably put himself in that category as well, but I hadn’t in a very long time. Even before finding out Thomas was kin, and learning how far he’d gone to protect me without my even realizing it, he had shown himself time and again to be someone I could count on, and those people were rare enough in my life to be precious. To me, Thomas was no monster, he was my big brother, and one of the strongest men I’d ever met. Those moments where I got a glimpse into how deep his self-loathing could go, how much he’d internalized a certain view of himself, all I wanted to do was get him to see himself through my eyes. That wasn’t how people worked, though. In the end, we only saw our reflections in a mirror of our own creation.

“I note that you said, ‘most of us.’”

“Sharp as ever. We don’t like to talk about that branch of the family tree much, but there were some who refused the change, and managed to survive the aftermath. Sort of the Deliverance to our Basic Instinct.”

“I don’t really go for documentaries.”

Thomas snorted.

“Please, Basic Instinct is the Disney version of my family at most. Anyway, those left went into hiding, and their numbers never really recovered. We still keep track of their little bands, but like most families with backwards cousins that live out in the woods we don’t like to acknowledge them whenever we can avoid it.”

Okay, that was a lot to take in all at once. Surging to my feet, I began to pace across the rather well-worn carpet covered in swirling designs and flowers in faded pastel.

"So, you're telling me that there's a primitive ancestor of the White Court living in the Northwestern United States?"

"Yes, among other places. They tend to be loners and stick to more remote locations."

"And this offshoot, that I've never heard of before, and which sparkles by the way, is...what? In trouble? Causing trouble?"

"According to Lara," he started, which we both knew meant the information was inherently suspect, “she’s been getting reports that one of the largest North American covens has been experiencing a lot of attention of late from their leaders. She wants me to reestablish relations with them and see if they need support.”

Leaving aside the appropriation of the term coven, which I resented, there was no way anything about this was as simple as Thomas just made it sound. The White Court was a race of schemers, the kind of brilliant and ruthless plotters that would give Machiavelli nightmares, and Lara had fooled every last one of them. She’d seized power from her father without anyone but Thomas and me being the wiser, put the two of us in a position where we couldn’t actually use that information to hurt her, and gave her enemies the perfect opportunity to overthrow her, just so she would have the opportunity to identify them and arrange their untimely deaths. She didn’t give charity, she never made a move she couldn’t benefit from, and while she did care for her immediate family in her own messed up way, anyone else was just a pawn in her twisted games. The idea she would send her brother to check in on creatures whose existence she probably considered a personal embarrassment was laughable. No way would Thomas or I buy that story, and she had to know it, which meant she wanted us to know there was more going on…

Hell’s bells, I’d been in this town less than a day and my head already hurt.

"So what you’re telling me is that we are here because Lara, your Lara, the Lara who never does anything up to and including the pizza boy unless it plays into some grand master scheme that will likely result in her standing smugly over a mountain of bodies while we both end up nearly dead, having somehow done her master bidding, _that Lara,_ is suddenly so concerned about her weird Neanderthal vampire cousins that she sent her rogue brother and the wizard who has sworn to stop her to try and help them."

Thomas sat there on the soft comfy bed with irritatingly enigmatic expression.

"Pretty much. Also, Lara usually uses the pool boy for her nefarious schemes."

Suddenly the urge to set something on fire was very near and temptingly lifting its dress to show off a lot of leg.

"Okay man, you need to give me something to go on here, either an explanation that actually makes some damn sense or a very _very_ good reason why I shouldn't walk out that door and hitch the first ride back to Chicago."

Then Thomas, who had been doing his level best impression of a marble statue, looked me straight in the eyes and said, "Because I need you to understand I can't tell you more right now, I need you to know that I have a good reason for not telling you more, I need you to trust me, and most of all," here he hesitated, and something broke through the ultra-cool vampire mask for a moment, "Because I need your help man."

Well damn. There it was. It didn't matter that I was walking into a situation nearly blind. Didn't matter that I'd barely been in this town a few hours and already something insanely fast and deadly had already tried to off me. Didn't even matter that by being here I was probably working right into the hands of one of the deadliest enemies I'd ever faced. No, none of that mattered, because Thomas was family. Whatever our differences, whatever our arguments, none of that was important in the face of that single, inescapable fact, more solid than stone or steel. He was family, and I don't walk away when family needs me.

Not ever.

Sighing, I sat back down on the bed, taking a moment to tug my jacket out of the way so it didn't get caught. "Okay, where do we start?"

"The representative of the local coven, a guy named Carlisle. Carlisle Cullen."

I'm pretty sure somewhere thunder was booming dramatically.


End file.
